I'm worried that I blew my only chance
by UnicornStarFighter
Summary: (somewhat) alternate ending to series three, episode two ("The Sign of Three"). One-shot.
1. Chapter 1

He glanced around the room and, finding nobody to dance with, made his way back to his music stand, where he carefully folded the sheet music and slipped it into an envelope.

He skirted the dancers without pause and left the room. The spring air was cool on his face when he went outside, and he whipped his coat around and pulled it on. The heaviness of the wool settled on his shoulders and it was with a practiced motion that he flipped up the collar. He could hear the music from the reception, but he forced his mind away from it in favor of a composition he had only just begun that day.

He was nearly to the place where he would be able to catch a cab when a voice broke through the music inside of his head. No, not a voice. _Her_ voice. With it again came the sounds of the reception, a barrage against his mind that he was trying so hard to escape.

"You shouldn't have left," she said. "You're best man."

"I think you'd find that John does not require my services any longer," he said, turning to face her. "Not tonight, at the very least."

She crossed her arms and looked at him. "Hardly. I repeat: you're best man. He wants you to be there, and it's not particularly kind of you to leave."

"It's the kindest thing I could have done," he said. He watched as she began to rub her hands up and down on her bare arms. "You're cold."

It wasn't a question.

She shook her head. "This isn't about me. It doesn't matter."

He fought the urge to run his hands through his hair. Instead, he removed his coat and placed it around her shoulders.

"Now you'll be cold," she said.

He shook his head. "I have my suit. You do not."

"What an astute observation," she said. "Come back inside."

He swallowed. When had things changed? When had it become so easy for her to talk to him, to order him about? She used to be so quiet, such a...

"Mouse," he murmured.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"You don't understand," he said.

"What don't I understand?" she asked. "Enlighten me, please."

"You _wouldn't_ understand," he said.

"Try me," she said.

"I have no urge to ruin John and Mary's wedding day, contrary to what some might believe," he said, shaking his head. "I think it would be best if I left."

"You're avoiding the question," she said.

"I am avoiding a situation that I would prefer to not be engaged in," he said. He gave a dry chuckle. She raised her eyebrows. "It's nothing."

"Nothing is ever _nothing _with you," she said. "I may not know as much as you think I should, but I know that."

"You have always been the only one I would work with," he said. "Please do not insult your intelligence by claiming that I believe you do not know enough."

"Then what is it?" she asked.

He looked down—no, he _looked_ at her. Her arms were crossed beneath his coat, the yellow of her dress visible despite the fading light. The bow in her hair had grown limp as the evening progressed, but it was still a bright flash of color against the brown. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were questioning.

He sighed and inclined his head so that he could press a kiss to her forehead. He felt her lean towards him slightly.

"You see, but you do not observe," he said. "I said that once, to our dear friend John. I find the same to be applicable here."

He turned and resumed walking. She caught the sleeve of his suit and he stopped. "What do you _mean_?"

"It's quite simple, really," he said. "Those funny little brains of yours... I must admit I understand my dear brother's feelings toward myself much better now."

He started to walk again. She let go of the sleeve of his suit.

"Sherlock."

He turned to face her. She had uncrossed her arms and was clutching at his coat, her eyes widened slightly. The wind had picked up slightly, and strands of hair were blowing around her face. For a moment, she looked just as she had the first time he had walked into the lab at Bart's—nervous, quiet, but with unquestionable strength.

"At least dance with me once before you go."

He sighed, but took a few steps until he stood in front of her. The music was nearly silent, and she gestured back toward the reception hall.

"Should we..."

He shook his head. "No." He tapped his temple with his finger. "It's in here."

She nodded and held out her hands. He took one, allowing her to place the other on his shoulder as his other hand went to her waist.

They began to waltz, the speed changing as the music in his mind moved from movement to movement. He could feel her close to him, but he blinked once, hard, and kept his focus on the music. Her head was slightly inclined, the hint of a blush visible on the tops of her cheeks.

The waltz had begun to slow for the final time when she looked up and met his gaze for the first time since they had started dancing. He swallowed, and she took a deep breath.

"I know it's not really my place, but—"

He shook his head, and she fell silent. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said. He turned and began to walk away once more.

"Your coat?" she asked.

"Keep it," he said. "I'll get it the next time I visit the morgue."

He could almost see how her eyes widened in his mind, and came to a halt when she spoke again.

"What were we dancing to?"

"A composition I've been working on," he said.

"Who is it for?" she asked.

He turned, a half-smile on his lips. "It's for you, Molly Hooper."

With that, he resumed his walk away from the reception, leaving her standing there on the path, his coat wrapped around her shoulders and her hair falling loose from its arrangement.

It was an image that would be fixed in his mind palace for the rest of his life.

* * *

**A/N:**

**First time writing a Sherlock fanfiction, I hope he's not too OOC.**

**The end of that episode just ruined my life and I needed to write an alternate possibility. I was going to make it super fluffy, but I thought that would be _extremely _OOC. I might write a continuation of this or a longer Sherlolly story at some point, but first I need to make sure I'm actually capable of writing him properly. I love the show and the character and while he's certainly more human in series three, he's still Sherlock Holmes and needs to be handled properly.**

**Peace and love x**

**~AC**


	2. Announcement of sorts

Okay, I continued it.

(I sort of always knew I was going to.)

If you want to read the thing that's going to be an actual story, it's titled "Can you see the beauty inside of me?"

You can either find it by going to my profile, or you can copy and paste this link:

s/9997232/1/Can-you-see-the-beauty-inside-of-me

Thanks, all x


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